


Holy Hands Make Me A Sinner

by constellationqueen



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Bodyguard!Andrew, Butcher!Neil, Implied Murder, M/M, and post raven!andrew, fluff?, i actually don't know how to tag this, it's like a lot of backstory, post raven!neil, sort of, this is mostly just a lot of explaining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationqueen/pseuds/constellationqueen
Summary: AU where Nathaniel takes over his father's job and Andrew, who knows that Nathaniel will somehow manage to get himself killed, agrees to be his bodyguard.Vaguely inspired by this fan art and this fan art, but mostly inspired by Courtney and her wonderful prompt that got me started down this dark road.





	

“I don’t pay you to help me with this,” Nathaniel says, wiping his forehead with the back of his forearm as he pauses a moment for breath. He’s covered in blood and sweat, and at this point he’s running on fumes.

“You don’t pay me to listen to you whine, either,” Andrew says. “Now put your goddamned back into it.”

Nathaniel huffs and shakes his head, but he helps Andrew lift the, well, _body_ might be too generous a word, but it’s the only word Nathaniel has. Neither of them are meant to be doing this, since Nathaniel pays other people to get rid of the bodies for him. But that’s the problem with having two fucking murders in one night. People get busy, and sometimes his own hands have to get dirty.

Andrew is supposedly only helping so that they can get to sleep faster. They’ve both been awake now for a little less than thirty-six hours, and, honestly, Nathaniel is exhausted, and he can’t imagine that Andrew is any more rested. To be fair, Andrew is probably more tired than Nathaniel is, since he’s less used to running on such low sleep.

“Andrew,” Nathaniel starts, once the body is wrapped up in plastic. All that needs to be done now is take the body out and dump it. The blood can be left until morning, when the people Nathaniel pays to clean up his messes are available. That’s the nice part about having a cellar designed specifically for murders. The messes can wait until morning.

“Shut up,” Andrew says. He walks over to the industrial sink and turns it on with his elbow. Why he bothers, Nathaniel isn’t sure, but he watches fixedly as Andrew slowly and methodically cleans his hands. “You too.” Andrew steps aside to dry his hands and jerks his head at the sink.

Nathaniel shakes his head and clenches his hands. The blood makes them sticky, makes it harder to let go. A tremor falls down his spine at the sensation. “They’re just going to get dirty again, anyway.”

Surprisingly, Andrew lets it go. Together, they carry the body to the garage and dump it into the bed of Nathaniel’s truck. Andrew doesn’t even ask; he just slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Like all of Nathaniel’s vehicles, it purrs when the ignition is turned over, engine a soft rumble in the background as they pull out of the garage. Andrew steers them north, onto I-83, and then he just drives. The sound of the tires and the engine would have lulled Nathaniel to sleep on a normal night. Thankfully, their destination is only a sixteen-minute drive.

Just outside of Woodbrook is a small lake bordered by suburban homes and a dog park. This lake has been used for body-dumping before, but only twice. Nathaniel is just lucky that it’s been so long since the last time a body was discarded here, that his father started the trend and that the local police won’t be able to tie the murder to him or the Moriyamas. Nathaniel and Andrew park along the side of the road and carry the body between them as they walk along the train tracks to the center of the lake. They weight the body down and toss it over, wait for the splash, and then they leave. At three in the morning, the world around them is quiet; a bird cries out, and the crickets answer, but otherwise it’s just Andrew’s breaths and Nathaniel’s and the sharp rocks shifting under their feet with each step they take.

“Stop thinking about it,” Andrew says as they get back into the truck. The warmth from the heater when the engine starts is a welcome relief from the bite of the early fall outside.

“I’m not,” Nathaniel says, watching Andrew light a cigarette. The lights of the dashboard and the soft glow from the cigarette put Andrew’s features in stark contrast with each other, making his cheekbones look sharper, his cheeks a little more hollow than they actually are. From here, Nathaniel can’t see the number five tattooed on Andrew’s left cheek, in the same place as Nathaniel’s three. Their days as Ravens feel so long ago – ages, eons – when it’s only been a few years since they graduated.

“You’re a liar,” Andrew says, tossing an amber glance Nathaniel’s way before returning his attention back to the road.

Nathaniel hums in agreement and looks out of the passenger window. “Yeah, well, that’s one of the things _I_ get paid for.” Andrew’s reflection flicks ashes at Nathaniel, and Nathaniel lets him with a small smile.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window. “I know you do.”

When they get home, they make their way through the main level of the large house, shutting off lights and arming the alarm. Eventually, Nathaniel ends up in the bathroom, staring at the shower with a heavy weight on his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, which are still sticky with blood that extends up to his elbows.

“Nathaniel.” The voice behind him isn’t soft, but it’s low and raspy, and that’s probably as close as Andrew will ever get.

Nathaniel nods, and then says yes very softly. Strong hands slide over Nathaniel’s shoulder blades and up to his shoulders, where they squeeze briefly before Andrew steps into Nathaniel’s space, pressing up against his back. “Breathe, dumbass,” Andrew whispers, his breath warm against the back of Nathaniel’s neck. Nathaniel drags in a breath, and it hurts, and the second one hurts too. One of Andrew’s hands moves to rest over Nathaniel’s chest, and when he breathes this time, it hurts less.

Andrew turns Nathaniel around and takes off his shirt. After Andrew arches his eyebrows, Nathaniel sighs and undresses himself the rest of the way.

“Are you going to have a damn panic attack if I leave?”

“Fuck off,” Nathaniel says by way of answering, and he steps into the shower alone. The blood comes off slowly, running red and then pink down his body to circle the drain and eventually disappear. A heavy breath falls from his lips as he tips his face up into the water. He’s not panicking, not today, not right now, but the scars on his cheek burn like brands, and he’s not sure if it’s all in his head or not.

When Nathaniel leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel, the house is silent. Silence like this used to only happen once in a while. It meant that Nathaniel would have some time in the house without his father, without Lola, sometimes even without his mother. It was a time for Nathaniel to practice the violin to please his mother, or a time to practice Exy to please himself. He never had a lot of moments to himself, and he always took advantage of them.

Now he doesn’t have any time to himself, but he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he might.

“Are you coming to bed or not?” Andrew asks, leaning out of the doorway to the bedroom. It isn’t the master, because Nathaniel still can’t make himself sleep in the same room where his father had slept and done business. Andrew had offered to burn the house to the ground, had offered to help Nathaniel move his life wherever he wanted it to be. But Nathaniel said no. The house is convenient for several reasons. The main reason being its nearness to the Little Lord, to the Moriyama empire. But the house also has a lot of additions that make Nathaniel’s job easier. Like sound-proof rooms. And a basement that is specifically designed for butchering people.

So, they don’t sleep in the master, but Andrew doesn’t seem to care either way. “Yeah, I’m coming.” Nathaniel brushes past Andrew into the bedroom and pulls on one of Andrew’s t-shirts and a pair of grey sweatpants. Andrew walks over to the window and picks up a half-finished cigarette from the ashtray situated on the sill. He puts it out. Nathaniel crawls into bed and lays down facing the room.

But when the bed dips down behind him, Nathaniel rolls over to face Andrew, who lays on his back, hands folded over his stomach. They lay in silence for a long while, Andrew starting at the ceiling, Nathaniel staring at Andrew. Nathaniel is just thinking that they may not get any sleep at all tonight when Andrew breaks the silence. “When are you going to tell me?”

Nathaniel draws in a slow breath. Andrew isn’t pushy by nature, but as Nathaniel’s bodyguard and… boyfriend? Lover? Andrew feels protective of Nathaniel. Or, at least, that’s what Nathaniel is assuming. He’s never asked, because he’s never expected an answer.

“When I’m ready,” Nathaniel replies, carefully watching Andrew’s profile, taking note of the strong jaw and the muscle that jumps along it, using his eyes to trace the straight nose and the perfect cheekbones, all the way down to his lips.

He doesn’t know what to tell Andrew, which is why he’s been putting it off. What can he say? That his father was an asshole, that Lola was a bitch, that his mother did the best with what she had, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough? Andrew already knows all of that. Andrew knows a lot about Nathaniel. They were partners at Evermore, after all. Jean had asked to transfer partners because he was tired of Nathaniel’s attitude, and Nathaniel was getting tired of Jean, too. Andrew and Nathaniel got along because they shared a lot of the same quirks, and they respected each other and each other’s boundaries.

Andrew knows a lot about Nathaniel, but he doesn’t know everything. It isn’t fair, probably, that Nathaniel is holding so much back when Andrew had told Nathaniel so much. But when Nathaniel works it out in his head, when he thinks about everything he could say to Andrew… it just sounds like pandering. How is he supposed to articulate what he’s feeling? Nathaniel can’t separate himself from his memories like that. When he thinks of Lola, he feels nauseous. When he thinks of his father, he can’t help the spike of fear in his chest, no matter that his father has been dead for years now.

But Nathaniel feels like he’s leaving Andrew with nothing, so he says, “I don’t know where to start.”

It takes a moment, but Andrew eventually rolls over and stares at Nathaniel. Without Nathaniel’s knowledge of the other man, the stare would look hard and unforgiving, but Nathaniel knows that Andrew is just fortifying himself, trying to carry the weight of both of their lives on his shoulders. And that’s half of Nathaniel’s problem. It’s not fair that Andrew is always protecting Nathaniel, and that Nathaniel doesn’t get the opportunity to return the favor.

Andrew holds out his hand, letting it hover in the air between them just long enough for Nathaniel to nod his consent, and then Andrew’s warm, callused palm settles onto Nathaniel’s cheek. The scars that run from the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth to the outside corner of his eye perfectly fit under Andrew’s hand. The scars feel warm, now, but they don’t burn the way they did in the shower.

“Start with these.”

“Lola,” Nathaniel says. Andrew already knows most of this story. “She’s… she _was_ obsessed with Nathan, with me, and when I was older, just before I went to the Raven’s, she said something. I don’t even remember what it was, but I stabbed her, and she did this to me. Nathan was furious. First at her, and then at me. He slapped me and then poured alcohol over them. I wasn’t allowed stitches.”

Andrew’s eyes harden, but his hand remains loose and gentle on Nathaniel’s cheek.

“You don’t like doing this. Killing people for Ichirou.”

Nathaniel shrugs, a non-answer. “I’m good at it. And it keeps me under Ichirou’s protection.”

“Until you get caught.”

“I’m not going to get caught.”

Andrew’s hand is suddenly tight in Nathaniel’s hair, tipping his head back. Nathaniel continues to gaze calmly at Andrew, who moves closer, propping himself up on his elbow to stare down at Nathaniel. “Don’t get cocky.” Nathaniel opens his mouth to speak, but Andrew’s hand tightens. “Shut up. You had a fucking future ahead of you. You could have played Exy until your body failed you. But you chose this. Why.” The growled demand can’t be described as a question, not when it sounds more like a threat.

They had a deal between the two of them, a deal that started in the Nest and that continues still today. Andrew protects Nathaniel, and Nathaniel tells Andrew the truth. It’s not that Nathaniel lies very often, but at times like this, when he wants to lie, their deal becomes a pain in the ass.

Because how is he supposed to tell Andrew the truth, when the truth is that Andrew is a large part of the reason why Nathaniel chose this life? Andrew hates being the reason Nathaniel does things, and he’s not afraid to voice his opinion on Nathaniel’s intelligence. Or lack thereof.

“Why didn’t you ask me this earlier?”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“It’s been years, Andrew, why is this bothering you now?”

Andrew pushes away from the bed and stalks over to the window. Nathaniel sits up and watches, his heartbeat steady in the face of Andrew’s anger. Once the window gets cracked open, Andrew lights a cigarette, his back to Nathaniel. The room falls silent while Andrew takes a drag, and then two, and a third. Nathaniel waits. He knows Andrew’s anger, and he knows it’s simmering but not boiling over. Not yet, at least.

“Tell me, and then I’ll tell you.”

Nathaniel sighs, but he figures that’s fair. “I made a deal with Ichirou. He came to me after Kengo died, to let me know that he was taking over the empire, that he was starting fresh and eliminating people that he saw as weak links and problems. I thought he meant me, but he actually meant you. He knew that I talked to you, and he knew what I told you. And I knew what he wanted. My father would always look at Ichirou as the son of Kengo, not the leader of the Moriyamas. Nathan was going to die anyway. So, I played my hand. I told Ichirou that if he wanted me to be the new Butcher, then I wanted something in return.” Nathaniel pauses to watch the tension roll through Andrew’s shoulders. “I wanted to be the one to kill my father and his people, and I wanted you as my bodyguard.”

With the truth of it said, Nathaniel waits for Andrew to finish his cigarette and turn around. The hard look is gone from his eyes. “I didn’t ask you before because I know how the Moriyamas work. You had already agreed, so there was no backing out.” Andrew walks closer, each step measured and sure, and sits on the bed. Silence again wraps around them, and Nathaniel’s heartbeat is steady but loud in his ears. “Your hands shook today.” It’s only a statement, but from Andrew it’s a reason, an answer.

Nathaniel balls his hands into fists. He hadn’t even noticed. But, of course, Andrew had. “It’s not so bad when I don’t have to do the cleanup.”

“You mean when you don’t have to deal with the fact that you’ve just killed someone.”

“No.” Nathaniel shakes his head. “Death is… it doesn’t bother me. I don’t even care that I killed someone. It’s just the memories. Thinking of Nathan, thinking that I look just like him, especially with the knife in my hands and blood everywhere.”

Andrew grabs Nathaniel’s chin, none too gently. “But your father didn’t have me.”

It’s such a self-assured statement that Nathaniel has to smile. “He didn’t.” And maybe that makes all the difference in the world.


End file.
